Behind the Cathedral
by MSCB
Summary: [PippaFelicty, Pippa’s POV]How was Pippa initiated amongst the higher crowd at Spence? Surely being who she was, rich, beautiful, graceful as a swan, must have helped but it takes just a little more... [Warning!Spolers!]
1. Hallowed Halls and Beginings

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pippa, Felicity, Spence, or any other related media. All of it belongs to Libba Bray.  
_I vow this not to be a one-shot! It will have more chapters! I promise._  
First fanfic. here. Review and stuff if ya like.

**Edit** -- Just got back to working on this. Man! Sorry guys. Revising and everything is going on...Now! Then I can add more. My deepest aplogies for the wait.

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The carriage bumps along the country road, unsteady, creaking wheels. The velvet lined seats and walls offer no comfort in the grey light of coming dusk, the shadows of the woods and fields lie ahead. I am being sent off to Spence Academy for girls. Mother hopes for me to learn some civility and manners at this place. I, hope to get out alive. The castle-like structure of the residence looms ahead. I see something flicker to the left of me in the woods, and turn my head sharply. Mother gives me a strange, cool glance, and I turn back to facing frontward, to my own window, a lady-like smile bracing my features.  
The carriage seeps to a halt, moments later, and the toll of a bell is heard, ringing across the lands. I glance up, and along the ramparts is none other but Gargoyles. This will be a long year. I step out daintily, my shadow stretching across the grounds, to see a group of girls headed to a steep Cathedral. The eyes of a pretty, fair-haired blonde reach my own. She ducks her head with a sniff- disdain, I sense? I pray not- and she turns, headed down her path, head held high, followed by a crowd. I stiffen, and frown, as we head to the door.

Stepping into the well-lit great hall of Spence flooded my mind with a tremor of fear. The columns cast long shadows across the floor, the fire dim in the fireplace. A stout maid hurried over and put it out, before hurrying over to us. Streaks of soot lined her face and blouse. She looked my Mother and I up and down, a frown edging those wrinkled lips. Her plump breasts peaked out from over a tightly tied apron, jiggling as she shifted her hands to her waist,  
"G'd evening, missus. Miss Nightwing expected you all some time ago. Come, now. Vespers ah' soon t' be over, an' she'll meet you in her office. Follow me, please."  
My mother and I followed this jaunt, crude housekeeper up the stairs, my mother babbling apologies away like flowers falling from a petal. It's so fumbled and unseemly over her, I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. The coppery taste of blood reaches my mouth, and I pause a step to breathe.

My mother flickers a glance back to me, and I smile, continuing on. The housekeeper prattles on about timeliness in that thick Scottish accent. I catch of whiff of cleaning fluids and brandy from behind, trying not to smirk as it tickles my nose. I have something against the old crone, now. She frowns back at the both of us, and unlocks double doors, thick mahogany things that creak wide and slide across the tiled floors as graceful as you please.

Oil lamps line the large office, flickering Victorian wallpaper- green, peacock feathered in pattern, and a sturdy oak desk. A silver box lies along it, with the carved name of our headmistress. 'Nightwing.' Beside it line a shelf with several- dozens, at the very least, figurines of happy girls and boys. A little milkmaid with braids, a taunt smile and rosy cheeks, beside a blue-bloused girl with long braids. So fragile and small, I cannot bare to look at them, lest I wring my neck in fear from those ever-staring eyes.

Leaving the room, the crone indicates to some chairs. We take our seats in sturdy silence, and the doors shut behind her. The gaggle of voices floats up the stairs to the office, a soft laugh ringing clear through it, a beautiful sound, like a bud ripping to a fruit in the midst of spring. I shudder in a way that I haven't shuddered since I saw the _beautiful_ body of the son of the man I am supposed to marry. As rich as he is, I would just be another trophy for him. I spare no affection, and wish not to on such a sordid, disgustingly portly figure. He fumbles when he speaks, fidgets when he stands, can't sit still, and has the most searching eyes I have ever seen. Its is disgusting and degrading, making me want to tear my hair from my head and choke myself with it. I can't stand Mr. Bumble- God forbid I am forced onto him as a wife. We met a month ago, and I'm hopping he'll crash in a carriage from London- I voiced such concerns and was locked away and punished—but, it will not do to dwell on that.

The doors click open, and the shadow of a portly, brown haired woman, traces of grey flickering through the tousled hair, tied neatly in a bun, crosses the room and lands on us. I sit a little straighter. Her dominance over the school is clear, and her cold eyes are calm and chilling. Nightwing, apparently; she sits at the desk, tight lips breaking into a sort of strained, forced smile. She folds her hands, and peers down at us through rimmed spectacles, my mother smiles and holds out a hand, "Ah, Lillian Nightwing, I assume?"  
The woman nods curtly, and my mother shakes her hand. Introductions are made, but I only nod and smile, distracted by the figures flickering past the slightly open door. My mother places a hand on my arm, and I bolt upright, returning from clouded thoughts of the soft-laughing girl and the blonde haired beauty. I nearly melt- embarrassment of being caught off guard, or was it something else? I am uncertain. The knot in my stomach tightens as mother stands to leave. I give her one last bracing hug goodbye, knowing well in my chest I shall not see her until Assembly day, or whenever that woman stated. I hold back a choke of tears- I do not get along with mother often, but God knows I shall miss her. I am always horrible with goodbyes.

Mrs. Nightwing leads me down a flight of stairs. The acrid smell of smoke comes from the West Wing- I recall, having drifted in and out of the conversation that had taken place, there was a horrible fire of some sort there. I shall get the information later, I assume. Mrs. Nightwing apologies for not being able to feed me- something will be brought to my room. The door clicks open to reveal a room with a window- pretty, really, a closet, and a bed. The mattress is rolled- I am to undo it and make my sheets as due, and the wire frame lies menacingly near it. My chest lies in the closet, my outfits hung on hangers, wrinkled slightly from being folded and forced into confines. Across the room is a ready-made bed, closet door ajar- beautiful gowns and dresses for all occasions lie within. I catch only a glimpse, but it makes me wish to know my roommate. Perhaps we may share our stories and the like- I don't wish an enemy on my first arrival here.

Mrs. Nightwing leaves me to my dues, speaking curtly, "Now, Miss Cross, I must go shepherd the girls to their beds. It is five minutes past nine, and it will do us no good to stay up." She smiles bracingly. I only stare, having no reaction. She continues on,  
"Ms. Worthington, you're roommate, will meet you here. If you need any assistance, do ask her."

I can only nod, and she leaves the room. I set about to making my bed, and from the downstairs, hear the voice of Mrs. Nightwing calling to the girls to bed. The giggling softens and I heard footsteps coming and going down the halls. By the time I am rearranging my sheets, the door open, and in parades the blonde-haired beauty. He dress is lined at the hem with small bits of dirt, and she frets with it, walking to the vanity and frowning into the mirror, taking no notice of me. I stare in awe- God forbid I'd ever see an angel walk this Earth. Her grace and beauty shimmers, and I long to feel the caress of her gloved fingers along my face- I snap to reality, where I am staring and ogling her like a fawn to some new forest creature it has not seen before? She gives me the oddest of looks, and sifts her weight, taunt hips swaying from one side to another, hands resting placidly upon them. She frowns,  
"Miss Cross- Pippa, I presume?"  
A blush creeps across my face, it grows and steadies swiftly, and I stand straight, nodding daintily, feeling faint. I hold out a hand, one she does not accept. I place it to the side, rearranging my skirts. There is a rough, uneven silence before, and she speaks again- I fear melting into the floor with embarrassment. This is unlike me- unlike a lady. God commands against this sort of thing, doesn't he? I push those thoughts away. They must leave me be.  
"Yes, Pippa Cross. A pleasure, Miss Worthington."  
She sniffs,  
"Felicity."  
My eyes widen slightly, and I blink,  
"You're father is the Admiral?"  
She nods curtly,  
"As much as I hate to admit to so, yes. Father is the Admiral-"  
"Blessed by Queen Victoria herself! Oh, it's a honor miss Worthington!"  
I couldn't believe my mouth. I was prattling on- she seemed unfazed,  
"Well, it is quite nice. Look- stop playing with that 'Innocent Perfect Girl' act. It's not going to get you through here alive."  
I blink, and slump onto the bed, frowning at her,  
"I'd suppose not."  
She grins at me, wickedly, wildly,  
"That's a good start. I suggest you finish your bedding, Pippa. The nights are cold and I refuse to have anyone come crawling to my side while I sleep."  
She is a bold girl to suggest so, and I scowl very, very slightly. It isn't unnoticed, and she remarks upon it,  
"Don't put you're face like that. A beauty shouldn't spoil herself as so with such a snide look."

She then turns from me, and begins the process of dressing down. I turn from her- it is rude, very, very rude, to look upon such things. There is a long silence, as I finish my bed. She sighs,"Pippa, could you help me loosen this corset?"  
Her voice drips with bitter regret, and loathing for the thing. Something I agree with whole-heartedly, and turn to help her do so. She loosens mine moments later, and we slide to bed. The hiss of the flame dies into the night, as moonlight shone through the window. I turned away from it, staring at the repetitive wallpaper, finding the creases and cracks. Just above the wooden floorboards, someone had lightly written,  
'Do not give up- only give in when necessary.'  
I shut my eyes- it was indiscreet advice, and was no use to me. Slowly, but not-painstakingly, I fell into a sleep. It would be a long, hard year.


	2. Felicity had a little lamb

**Disclaimer** - I don't own anyone in this story. They're owned respectively by Libba Bray  
**Authors Notes: **Okay, everyone careens out of ICness and into some weird world. I'm sorry. D: And my French is atriousciouss -- I abuse translators. and I'm not sure if I like this chapter at all. Also, my Beta didn't get my Email so she wasn't able to review the story. But I'm putting it up anyway because I'm nice.

Sorry about all those huge spaces. It doesn't look quite right, I know. I'm too tired to go back and fix all them. Sorry sorry!

**Thanks for the reviews and support!  
**_ MSCB_

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Morning arrived, the sunlight dancing over my face. As it was Sunday, I was awaked for early breakfast. Stumbling from bed, I looked a mess. I did my hair in the vanity, beside Felicity. We said nothing to each other, and the clouds of dawn moved outside the window in a picky, irrational way. Lord, I loathed mornings. Pulling on my dress, we headed to the dining hall.

Breakfast was edible, but barely. Slightly warmed porridge, stale bacon dripping with the remnants of grease, biscuits, and gravy. The best I could do was drowning it down with a glass of juice, the taste bitter on my lips. I frowned- the girls across from me, the ones who swarmed Felicity, tittered in amused glee. Felicity smirked softly, and pushed the saltshaker from view. The horrid wench- it'd been a day, and I couldn't stand her.

Mrs. Nightwing rose, and everyone went silent.

"Good morning, girls. We have a new student with us- Miss Pippa Cross. Her mother and father are wealthy, and have donated a gracious amount to our School in the past few years." She smiles down at me, and my face burns under her intense stare, as several of the girls give me over with a look of disapproval. I was holding my spoon all wrong, apparently. Mrs. Nightwing looked this over with a timid smile.

"We will be learning proper mealtime etiquette Monday, Miss Cross. Do put your spoon down."

I set down my spoon hurriedly in my porridge. Mrs. Nightwing continued on virtues of God, how blessed we were to have me. I should've been paying attention to the placement of my elbows, but I set down my left. It landed on the edge of the spoon.

A moment of screaming horror filled my brain, and in what appeared to be slow motion, the spoon rose from it's place, and flung a large, wet, cold glob of mushy, foully potato scented porridge across the table.

And it hit her hair. Oh, God. It hit her hair and just sat there a moment, before she screamed and stood, staring at me in horror, as though I had done this on purpose. Mrs. Nightwing looked shocked, and several girls giggled. The white lump of porridge atop her luscious, even, beautiful blonde hair was too much to bear. I grinned, and immediately wound up with orange juice trickling down my hair down to my bosom.

I stood, enraged,

"I meant nothing of what I did, Miss Worthington!"

"And yet you LAUGHED!"

"And you only react with juice on my head!"

It was my turn to be enraged. I took the rest of my porridge, and dumped it soundly across her curly ringlets. She stared at me, in utmost shock, and dumped her biscuits and gravy down above my juice soaked head. Mrs. Nightwing moved to stop us, but tripped and wound with her own head covered in juice and other food and drink. It was a sign!

The entirety of the table stood, and soon, food was being flung across and around the entire room. Mrs. Nightwing stood, and shrieked above the clamor and din,

"Grace, charm, and beauty! Girls, girls!"

A sudden whistle brought us to a stand still. We went dead silent, and Mrs. Nightwing stood and glared at us, she snarled, voice cold as an iron lock,

"Miss Worthington, Miss Cross- To my office, immediately."

We were marched up the stairs, covered in food. The house-keeper, Bridget, looked up over,

"Good lord, missus!"

And crossed herself. I looked to Felicity; surely we didn't look that- …

I realized, with a wide grin, we were walking, putrid smelling monsters from the deep of the garbage bay. Felicity glared at me, and frowned,

"What's so funny?"

"Its just-" I spun her around to face a mirror,

"Look!"

She grinned, and we both burst out laughing. Mrs. Nightwing sternly reprimanded us, and we looked down, shamefaced. In her office, she glared at us,

"What you did was a childish thing, girls."

"Yes, Mrs. Nightwing." We seemed very interested in the details of the carpet for a few moments, and there was a dark silence.

"You're punishment-"  
We braced ourselves,

"Is to get cleaned up and to assist the servants in cleaning the Dining Hall."

We would've groaned, but we knew it was worthless.

"Now, girls. Go get dressed, throw out those clothes, get cleaned, and I wish you to report to Vespers before cleaning. They will not start without you."

We marched to our room, head held high. Throwing our clothes into a waste bin, we giggled and went to wash the porridge from our hair. There was a long, uncomfortable pause at the sink as we avoided each other's gaze for a moment, before I spoke, "Felicity- I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to-"  
She cut me off with a shake of her head, hair following her, now sopping wet, spraying me lightly with water,

"It is nothing." She smiled at me, a genuine smile, and "We needed a good laugh, huh?"

And so, putting the events of the night and morning before behind us, we headed to Vespers, chattering amongst ourselves. Mrs. Nightwing passed us a glare, and we opened our Hymnbooks. I sat amongst the crowd of Felicity's royal followers, mind wandering from the sermon to the crowd; would I be accepted? Or would this morning mean nothing in the next dawn?

We left vespers in a straight line, I, following behind the group. Felicity was a natural leader, herding them along. She seemed alone in leadership, dominating them all with a dazzling ring and a heart-wrenching smile. She turned to me as she filed them past, into the Great hall for our leisure time- Mrs. Nightwing has let us off, saying we had disgraced ourselves enough.

"Do you want to join us?"  
My heart leapt at the prospect, but I didn't show it. I inspected my hand idly,

"I guess. Not much else to do anyway."  
She herself rolled her eyes, but smiled,

"Right then. We need a tent…"  
She trailed off, and I blinked,

"A tent? Whatever for?"

Felicity shrugged,

"Somewhere to get away from the stragglers."

I nodded and hurried to my – our – room, grabbing armfuls of scarves my mother had given me. Felicity looked down at them with a sniff of disdain,

"Rags? You bring me rags?"

I frowned, feeling hurt. If I'd been a dog, my hackles would've risen and my tail had fallen between my legs, but alas, I am but one specimen below dog: Sheep of Felicity.

I do not back down, instead, I pull some yarn from my pockets and string it above and around the window seat in which the crowd has gathered. They look at me oddly, and wordlessly, I string the scarves about the window. Viola- a tent, a sanctuary all out own. Felicity raises her brows, a soft smile gracing her lips, and it fills me with an endless feeling of bliss and satisfaction to see such a smile brought on by my own doing.

She speaks, voice curt and cool,

"You've done us well. Come on in, Pip'."

Pip? I've been reduced to being called Pip? Well, it could be worse. Jut to show her I am not to be outdone; I speak, voicing my worries,

"But Fe', what if they don't accept me?"

Felicity gives a soft snort, and rolls her eyes,

"You're beautiful, Pip. You'll fit right in- just get inside your tent. If they don't like you, they'll have to deal with _me_. After all, I am your roommate."

I have never more wanted to collapse in joy.

Suddenly, without warning, I felt I could collapse. My mind raced- oh, God, no. Not here, not now. I let out an unearthly shriek, mind convulsing in a fever, eyes lolling. I couldn't control anything- oh, God- did I just…? I want to sob and die. I did. Oh, God, I did. Everything was so perfect- they said it'd go away… They said it wouldn't happen any more.

The last thing I saw was Mrs. Nightwing raising a wooden spoon, and Felicity looking positively horrified.

Hours later, I can only assume, I am awake. Towels are beneath my legs- I can't sit up, and I want to cry. My eyes flutter open at long last, to see Felicity and Mrs. Nightwing sitting in chairs. Felicity is slumped over, looking terrified and worried, eyes shining with unshed tears. Mrs. Nightwing frets, and I try to push myself up. I fail, and fall back about a quarter inch. Such a small movement has attracted they're attention. I turn my head away, and Felicity hugs me. I wasn't ready for this, and blush, startled. Mrs. Nightwing clicks her tongue, and looks down at me in worry. We are all silent, and Mrs. Nightwing whispers, hoarsely,

"You are lucky the entirety of Spence knows nothing of this, save Mrs. Worthington and I. You had a seizure- Mrs. Cross. You're epilepsy-"  
I wince at the word. A sordid and cold, mocking term to imply mental undoing. Felicity looks none more shocked- it has been explained,

"Is fleeting and returning. It will come and go, according to the doctors. We advise you to suck on your teeth or to leave the room, telling all you feel faint when you feel a seizure coming on."  
I have heard it all before. She prattles on what I already know- I 'fainted', scared a lot of them, etc. Soon enough, she leaves, and we are alone. I push myself up at long last, unable to say anything through tears of shame and red-hot embarrassment; and at last Felicity speaks,

"Pip'- I'm sorry, I didn't-"  
"You didn't do anything." My voice is a hoarse, choked whisper, masked with sobs. She places an arm around my shoulder, sitting daintily along the bed, trying to offer comfort. I looked down, and away,

"Fe- did I…" I am horrified, "Did I soil myself?"

There is a long uncomfortable silence, and I know the answer. I am bright red and silent for the longest time, before she looks at me, earnestly,

"They are convinced you slipped. However, they aren't willing to accept you now…"

I want to sob again- and because I feel I have no control over anything at this moment, I do. I speak, shuddering great gasps of breath rising from my chest,

"T-they?"

She shrugs and gives a faint nod,

"My … Sheep."

I can only smile, and she hugs me softly,

"Don't fret about them. If you're feeling up to it, dinner is in twenty minutes. You've been out a good few hours, Pip'. I was scared."

I return the embrace, tighter, laying my head on her shoulder,

"So was I."

Dinner was a silent affair; Chicken, soup, salad, biscuits- cold, warm, slithering down my throat like a choking snake. Everyone avoided my gaze, and Fe was whispered to amongst her throng of sheep. I shut my eyes, biting back tears. I knew what they were talking about- my 'faint'. From the looks of it, Fe was only increasing the details to make it more horrifying. God, blast it! Only moments before we'd been as thick as thieves- she'd been my friend, a truly beautiful person, and now she's masquerading about them in a horrible mask of lies and deceit.

We are finished, and we push in our chairs. I storm ahead of the other girls, shoving through the crowd, determined to reach my room and not let them see my tears.

The door opens, and I look up from my position on the bed, hugging my knees. I glare at the intruder- but it is only Bridget. She frowns, and bustles through, taking our clothes to wash. There is a long silence, before I speak, her hand reaching for the door,

"Bridget?"

She tenses- not wanting to reply. I clear my throat, voice soft and slightly hoarse,

"Have you ever had someone lie to you? Just after the said they'd help?"

Bridget looks uncomfortable,  
"Ah, Missus, I've really to be seeing to th' laundry. Ah' suppose you take it up with Miss Worthington, sh' is yer room mate, aftah' all."  
She notices the look on my face, and I turn away. She utters something under her breath- something I don't catch, and sets down her basket, walking to my bed. She places a rough hand on my shoulder,  
"Ah' see whots goin' on, Miss. She's got that popular crowd about her, and doesn't want to give in the shine. As th' old sayin' goes, if ya' can't beat 'em, join 'em."  
She leaves the room.

The next morning, I went down to breakfast. The room went silent at my approach, and I sat at my seat; the room quickly resumed it's chattering. We had Art, French, History, and Vespers today. I couldn't wait for French- a language I'd been trying to grip for ages. It was the third class of the year, so I had only missed the basics- I hoped.

A stout woman sweeps into the room, hair pinned behind her hair in a bun, going loose. Her eyes sweep us over, and she smiles,  
"Bonjour, la classe ! S'il vous plaît ouvrir vos livres. C'est septembre Dix-septième- nous avons un test dans cinq minutes."  
I gape at her, and her eyes wander across the room- I am bookless, and only stutter what little French I know.

"Mademoiselle- je n'ai pas un livre."

Her smile widens, and she claps her hands to bring the class to attention,

"Les filles, nous avons un nouvel étudiant avec nous!"

I burn under the soft stare of all the girls- but they are thankful. I am putting off the test for another day. I snap to attention when the teacher speaks again,

"My name is Madame Lefarge."

Her voice is bracing when not speaking in the soft, fast tongue of the French. It is startling, and she repeats a question I have missed lost in thought,

"Je m'appelles vous?"

I clear my throat and reply softly,

"Je m'appelle Pippa Cross."

She beams,

"L'accueil, Pippa! Content pour vous nous joindre."

I blink, and she sighs softly,

"Welcome, glad you could join us, Miss Cross. Apparently you are not as fluent in French as I could hope."

I am handed a textbook, and it is open. We are forced to review- well, they are, and I am forced to learn over reviewing, what has past happened the days I have missed.

After French, we exited outside to the courtyard. It was an hour of recreation in the outdoors. Felicity's sheep followed after her predictably, but she waved them away, whiles I watched in stunned silence. She smiled at me, and took me by the hand, whispering in my ear, "Meet me at the boat house."  
We pretended to part ways, her sheep fleeing to their own corners, and I pretended to head to the Library. After no one was in my view, I made a stealthy beeline for the boathouse. What sight greeted me was shocking- Felicity, down to her under garments, was lying in the boat, like a bleached flower, and looking broken but blissful in the noonday sun. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled up to me, propping herself up on her arm,  
"Hey Pip."  
I blush and look away- so much skin is showing. She appears so immodest, yet my eyes are drawn towards those pale exposed shoulders, like small hills along the countryside. They slope down to graceful arms, where my beseeching eyes sight such dainty wrists, bone poking through beneath soft pale skin. I shudder, and she looks at me quizzically,  
"What's wrong?"  
I can only stammer an answer, my tongue thick and foreign in my mouth. She blushes herself as I reply,  
"You're immodest, Fe'!"  
She appears to shrug it off,  
"Well then, join me and we can be 'immodest' together."  
And I am only left with the will to do as she bids, like a flower bending to the sunlight.

She sits up and bids the seat next to me, as we row to the center of the pond, the ripples trailing behind us in the lazy after noon. Her arm rests entwined through mine, and I have yet to feel as comfortable around anyone as with her. A blush rises to my cheeks- I pray it to subside. There is a long silence, and I look over to her. She smiles, and I am almost unwilling to not melt into a pool of delerious happiness. We are stuck in a feild of sheep, here at Spence, but this matters not; She is my Shepard- And I am her lamb.


End file.
